undergrounds | [open] somewhere after midnight

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[open] somewhere after midnight

I. Drinking, Conversation & Light Blood Sport

It's not strange for Natasha to end up in a bar at some point in the evening. Sometimes earlier, sometimes later, but at least a couple of times a week she ends up in one. Tonight is notable not because she's found herself in a new bar—that could be any night—but because she breaks out of her routine of taking a seat at the counter and nursing a drink or two for hour or so, maybe chatting with a regular, then going on her way.

This time she's found herself in a bar near the institute, and she has a drink sitting on the a table off to one side, sure, but instead of sipping it without appetite, she's standing facing a dart board, throwing set after set of darts and landing them in tight clusters in the cork. First around the bull's eye then the triple twenty, the triple nineteen, eighteen, seventeen... and so forth.

Maybe she's relaxing. Maybe she's getting used to being in London and the new job. She'd like to think that's the case, though mostly she's been keeping her head down and her eyes open.

It might be going a little too far to say she's in a good mood, but she's starting to feel a little more outgoing. Enough to turn to someone near by and ask, "Care to give me some competition?"

II. Light Blood Sports & A Drinking Problem

Another night, another bar. This time Natasha is more to her normal script. Or at least, she was for about the first third of her whiskey sour. That's when a disagreement down the bar turns violent. At first, Natasha isn't too worried about it. It isn't her problem, just a couple of drunks knocking over stools and raising their voices.

Then one of them pulls a switchblade and it goes from not her problem to to very much her problem in a matter of a fraction of a second when the blade slides through the other man's jacket and into his forearm. The smell of blood fills the bar room, stronger and more intoxicating than any of the alcohol on the shelf.

It's been over two months since Natasha had human blood, and all in a rush it seems like every second of it was screaming at her. For a moment she freezes, afraid of what she'd do if she moved, afraid of what someone might see if she drew their attention. Her jaw tightens and her nails drag across the top of the bar in a slow, tense scratch. She stares at nothing, her attention narrowing to pin point.

The fight doesn't last from there. The bartender yells at both of them to get out, the bouncer appears. Both of them are kicked out.

And Natasha covers her mouth, shaking.

III. Streetlights, Shadows & Night Owls

Let's call it work. Natasha thinks of it that way. It's not exactly patrolling—nothing that formal. It's more just being out, keeping her eyes open, paying attention and being around. Most nights, it doesn't lead to much. Not wasted time since she's getting used to the city, but she doesn't accomplish a whole lot.

Sometimes, though, she runs into something interesting. Someone she can help? Who knows.

IV. Wildcard

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Kyle wanted to enjoy a nice beer in the chill pub not far from his place, to have some time to himself this evening before returning home to wake up to another day of frustration and confusion with the whole damn city. His desires are interrupted when a fight breaks out between the two guys beside him. He minds his own business until the blade comes out, at which point he jumps up with a couple other guys to start breaking up the fight, dragging the unarmed drunkard away from the antagonist that the other guys are grabbing. He passes off the guy as soon as the official security is there, all too grateful to return to his drink.

That is, until someone- something down the bar catches his attention. The woman is a complete stranger, but he recognizes the slight widening of her eyes and the way she seems to react to the fight, not afraid of the conflict but of the result of it. Kyle grabs his drink and walks over, taking his seat beside her instead of where he was.

"You should probably go," he says easily, looking behind the bar instead of at the woman as he takes another sip of his beer. It's as amicable as he'll get with what he's pretty damn sure is a vampire.

She glances over at his words, but her gaze doesn't linger on him. Her hand stays firmly over her mouth, playing the part of the prissy woman shaken up by violence to cover the darker reasons for her reaction.

For a few seconds, she wasn't sure she trusted herself to respond, let alone to leave.

Her breathing comes a little faster. On some level, Natasha would love to turn this into a fight, but she tamps down on that instinct. She can't give into that part of herself now. That was a person she was trying very, very hard not to be.

Finally, after too long of a pause, she replies, "That's going to take a minute."

Kyle takes another sip of his drink during her silence, but finally turns his head just enough to take in her expression. There's something off about it. The woman looks more ill from the experience than lusting for blood, though the physiological signs still point to vampirism. It gives him pause, enough that he's not trying to get her thrown out on her ass just yet.

"I heard The Jolly Roger is more for people with your.. tastes. Maybe you should try there and leave this place to the locals," he suggests. His tone is light enough, even as the words are intentionally rude.

There's another long beat before she answers. She tests her teeth with her tongue behind her hand. Only when she's satisfied that she has them under control does she let it fall to the bar, her fingers landing on the rim of her whiskey glass.

"My tastes?" There's a little gravel in her tone as she respond, the smell of blood still strong in the air. "You think you know about my tastes, kid?"

She swallows hard, but she's not backing down that easily. If she lets herself be pushed right now, she's not sure she won't snap.

"If you're not here to buy me a drink, maybe you should head back over to your friends."

Kyle can't tell if she's trying to hide the whole vampire thing or if there's something off about it. Maybe she's a witch who feeds on human souls or a werewolf with bloodlust all set to tear out his throat. But he's never been the brightest kid and now he's as much curious as skeptical.

"Luck for you, I came alone." He flashes her a smile, playing with his old jock stereotype in broad, sloppy strokes. Then he take another sip of his drink, letting his attention drift to the bar in front of them again. "Tell me what you are and I'll buy you a drink."

The offer earns him a sideways glance and an arched brow. Then she picks up her glass and finishes the whiskey in a quick toss. The burn fights briefly with the hunger clawing up her throat, but doesn't do much to soothe it. When the bartender glances back at the sound of her glass hitting the counter again, she gestures for another.

"In that case, this one's on you," she says, pushing the empty glass away. "It's pretty clear you're not going to like the answer, though."

"My mom used to say you never know until you try, but in your case, you're probably right." Kyle takes another sip of his own drink with a light chuckle. She's hot and expectant. He assumes she probably has it pretty easy in her day-to-day life, at least when it comes to finding food and drinks. He's attractive enough to have learned there's a difference, after the time when he wasn't.

The ex-soldier reaches to slide his wallet from his pocket, grabbing out a couple ten pound notes. He returns his wallet, but holds his hand over the money on the bar, turning to look at the woman again. "Doesn't mean I shouldn't know. I like that whole 'ignorance is bliss' idea, but it never really works out the way you want it to."

"What you should and shouldn't know is going to depend a lot on who you ask." She drawls out the last words a little, not pretending that she couldn't have gone on with her night perfectly happen with him not noticing her. "Not that I mind a handsome man buying me a drink, but I find hunters and I rarely get along."

There'd been one notable exception to that rule, give or take the ones who didn't know who they were talking to when they met her.

Natasha taps her fingers, hesitating to tell him even though she'd agreed to it. Unfortunately most of the methods that come to mind for avoiding an answer more forcefully don't end with the two of them on the best terms, and Natasha isn't looking to make enemies.

"Your first guess probably wasn't wrong," she allows after a pause. Her voice is pitched low, carrying only as far as him. "Vampire?"

She watches his face from the corner of her eye for the reaction.

"I have some pretty compelling reasons not to be interested in associating with my own kind." She continues because of his assumption, that her saying he was wrong about her tastes must mean that she wasn't a vampire and not that she had other reasons not to be interested in other vampires or human blood. "My tastes aren't what they used to be. I'd rather not go back."

"I'm not a hunter," he replies immediately, almost automatically. It's what they called him for lack of knowing what else to say, what everyone assumes he is just because he's human and knows about the supernatural, but it's not what he does and it's important to him that people get that. He might kill, but he doesn't hunt. "And I like to think I can decide for myself what I should and shouldn't know."

When she admits what she is, confirms his suspicions, he releases the money and pushes it towards the bartender as if she only confirmed another drink. The man serves her drink and moves off to fetch Kyle's as he signals for another as well and then drains the rest of his current pint. His muscles tense after a moment, as the realization of what he's sitting next to really sinks in. She doesn't seem interested in a fight, but Kyle's all too ready for one anyway.

"What the hell does that mean?" He asks quietly, turning to half-face her for the first time. His brows pull into a scowl with the new and unexpected information, wondering whether she means that she's unprotected by the Nest or actually has a taste for a specific.. something.

Natasha almost doesn't tell him. As hungry as she is, her patience is a lot shorter than it would be normally. The dodge is on her lips before she bites it back.

"It means that I'm not eating people." Somehow, she doesn't think that will come as a great comfort to him. If she were going to have to admit her motivations to a stranger, it would be nice to at least expect some advantage for it. "And I'm avoiding places that would make that more of a temptation."

But he raises another question. It's not just the fact he's human that makes her peg him for a hunter. It's his animosity, and the way he carries himself, like he's looking for a fight and he's ready to back up his aggression with experience. Natasha is very familiar with that look.

"So if you're not a hunter, what are you?"

A vampire that doesn't eat people. He used to speculate about how that could work and theorize on it, but it was always a pipe dream as a way of controlling an uncontrollable monster. The idea of meeting one seems unreal, especially in a pub in London. Somehow, it's a place that should breed more violence than tolerance.

"Then how do you get blood?" His voice drops to a quiet whisper, conspiratorial. As much as he hates vampires in general, he has no desire to rat one out to humans, or even to any hunters or werewolves. Not if there's a chance he found the unicorn vampire who can feed on something else, or chooses to.

Kyle opens his mouth to reply, then pauses as the bartender sets down his drink and takes the money. Once the man is out of earshot, Kyle continues. "I don't know. An ex-soldier, I guess."

A very clearly American one.

When he says ex-soldier, Natasha still kind of hears hunter. She won't press the issue if he doesn't see himself that way, but for her practical intents and purposes, he's a hostile human.

He seems more interested in knowing more than picking a fight for now, though, so at least she has that going for her.

"Animals," she says, a note of distaste in her voice. There's a reason most vampires don't do this, or don't last long when they do."It's not exactly ideal but it can be done. At least for a while."

"Until you snap back to having a taste for Soylent Green again?" He asks with a light chuckle. Kyle's good at keeping situations light until or unless his anger bursts in, preferring to remain as cordial and joking as possible until it becomes necessary to do otherwise. Not to say he can't be serious, but that he prefers not to be.

Natasha shrugs at his joke. Not because she hasn't thought of it, but because she's not entirely sure how long this lasts or what she's looking for when it ends. She doesn't have a lot of confidence that it's a permanent solution, though. Just a stop gap until she figures out something better.

"Maybe. Depends on how things go."

"Have you even done this before?" Kyle can't help but be skeptical, even as he finds his curiosity and determination to help slowly overtaking his anger at her race. His mind is already racing way ahead of the situation, not with brilliant plans or master schemes, but ideas of helping her and creating a new species of vampire that might not have to be killed.

"And how long have you been doing it now?"

He might be getting his hopes up a little high, seeing more than is there. Natasha can't do much for that, though. She didn't know what was going through his head, but she could almost hear his brain working.

And his questions highlight just how much she hasn't thought about this herself.

"About two months now, give or take. And," she laughs ruefully here, "no, I've never done this before. Not if I could avoid it."

"What changed your mind?" He asks sincerely, for once her tone neither deliberately light or hinting at underlying anger. It's a question he has zero right to and can't begin to guess at, but one which he's hoping she'll grant him anyway.

Two months isn't a very long time. Most addicts last around that long and her seeming desire not to feed in this way isn't as encouraging as he'd hoped. Maybe she isn't a magical unicorn after all. Maybe she's just another manipulative vampire looking to remain where she doesn't belong. Maybe.

"You know, normally I'm not this kind of girl. I'd say answering questions like that for at least the third date." She toys with her whiskey rather than drink it. This isn't the first time she's talked about this since she got here though, and she doubts it will be the last. She needs to convince people to trust her, and that means giving a little—a little truth, maybe.

"It wasn't just one thing, and not an easy answer. Mostly, though, I figured out that I didn't like what I saw very much. Liked who I was even less. Feeding on humans was a big part of that." She wonders if he expects her to talk about it being wrong, that she didn't want to hurt people. Wax moral. Self-loathing.

"I guess I wanted to see if I could be someone I liked a little more."

"Cool," he replies simply, thinking about what she's saying. Not a unicorn, but still something new, a kind of vampire he hasn't encountered before. One with remorse and an interest in being a better person. Or close enough to it anyway. Kyle gets that, wanting to be better. That's what's spurred his life since he ran away and let his sister die.

"So what's to stop you from snapping and relapsing?" Another sincere question, followed by another sip of his beer. If she's telling the truth, he can't help but want to help.

"I'm not the kind of person who loses control easily." Her lips twitch, her smile wry, and she answers lightly, as though making a joke of her own. "Call that the KGB training."

Kyle's arm stiffens and twitches, as if it was about to move but thought better of it. There's an automatic response to the idea of the KGB, the idea of the enemy, that activates some part of his soldier mind to fight. His first flash of a reaction to smash the glass pint he's holding into her head and go from there. But he recovers before his arm moves more than a half an inch, instead holding remarkably still and focusing his gaze down at the bar. Any levity that was there a moment before disappears as he takes a moment to focus.

"Lucky you," he says finally, his voice heavy. Kyle lifts his eyes to the back of the bar and takes a sip of his beer again, trying to cover for or move past the reaction he knows isn't normal. Being part of a vampire killing unit for a couple years will do that.

"That is a fight neither of us want tonight, kid," she says in a low voice. Interesting that was his reaction. She see the flash of reaction, and she doesn't flinch.

She finally sips her drink, eyes hooded.

"You don't seem entirely surprised. Not happy, but not surprised."

"Then don't start one." He shrugs. Kyle's still not sure if killing a vampire counts as murder and he has no interest in activating the damn werewolf curse when he's fairly close to curing the stupid thing. Besides, he has a feeling she'd probably win with his injuries not entirely healed and his reactions slowed by the alcohol.

"Surprised about what?"

"Just so long as we're on the same page." She's weak from living on animal blood, but she's still fairly confident she could handle him. If she couldn't... well, if she couldn't, she wouldn't have much to worry about afterward.

She's fairly sure she'd have to clean up the mess though.

"Take your pick. Anything other than the fact a vampire might want to be something other than a predator. You're not a hunter, but I don't think you're just a an ex-soldier."

He nods to acknowledge and support her remark. They're in agreement about not wanting to fight tonight.

"I'm still trying to decide if I believe you," he admits, casting a glance her way and then returning to nursing his drink. Kyle's generally the sort to be too trusting, but vampires have him nervous at best and with no one to vouch for her, he has no reason to believe that anything she says is true. With the fascination and wonderment of a special type of vampire now gone, reality has returned.

"And you're probably right, but I'm trying to be." Sort of. He's asking questions of everyone who will talk to him, trying to learn everything he can about why the different Circles of witches are fighting and how to avoid being a werewolf and all of that. But all of that came after he moved to London, after his tours and dealing with vampires. "It's that or rock star and I don't think I want all those girls throwing themselves at me. Sounds exhausting."

Back to making light.

[open] somewhere after midnight

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